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User blog:Eärendil Heir to Rivendell/My Backstory: LOTR (cont.)
'Eärendil, the stories of your travels are truly anecdotal. Did Aragorn really consider trying to jump off of the cliff to escape the stampede?' 'Consider? He tried to. I was the one who pulled him away from the edge.' No evil stirs me in the night’s cool. But I sense another mind pondering something in the dark. My consciousness pushes into it, and I find it is Legolas’. I see a figure standing in a mist of drowsiness, and I walk towards it. As I expect from past cognitive encounters, it’s a figure of his father. Lord Thranduil’s form mutters, 'I don’t understand why my mind is so dark. It has never appeared like this to me.' I look around at the swirling mist and shadow. It whirls around us, and I can no longer discern memory from mist. ' ''I think you have a Tantabus. It feeds on pain, worry, and betrayal. It manifests as a black shadow that shatters every memory inside you. Will you let me help you?' I ask. A Tantabus is a dangerous acquaintance to keep. The faster you destroy it, the less whiplash you have. It will kill you slowly. ' ''What will you do? I will not allow you to harm yourself to heal me. I would rather shatter.' Lord Thranduil looks to me, then looks away into the dark mist. ' ''Let’s not transmit The Tantabus is beginning to notice me.' '------' It’s still night. We are sitting facing each other, and my hand is touching his. We make eye contact, and I push into his mind until ours merge into one. ' ''You know what’s going to happen, Legolas. I’m going to accept your Tantabus by letting it seep into my mind.' I am watching the domed rotunda filled with floating memories carefully for any sign of the black matter. ' ''Are you sure this won’t hurt you?' 'It shouldn't. I promise, if it does for some wild reason begin to hurt, I will stop accepting it.' I see a whisper of darkness. The Tantabus is back to haunt us both. This time, it recognizes me as another of its victims and slinks around me as I stand tall with silver light shielding me from its emotional blows. It realizes my purpose with its piercing, yet eyeless stare into my mind and soul. The cold dark of it makes me shudder. It takes shape: an alicorn of darkness, and walks dangerously near me. If this was my own mind, I would have created another shield of light to ward it away. ' '''But this isn’t my mind. ' 'This is Legolas’. ' 'I lower the shield around me and it leans into me. The frigid blast of cold wavers me, and I am thrown backward. It’s lucky that Lord Thranduil caught me as I fall to the ground. ' 'The Tantabus is gone. Disappeared with its dark mists into my mind. Legolas’ transmitting is lost in the blizzard raging inside of me. I can only make out faint words of worry and anger blown in the wind. Then, a spark in the darkness around me. It’s Legolas. I stumble towards him, feeling quite like a leaf whipped around in the gusts. He sees me and starts running. I stumble, and he catches me and gently pulls me back up from the ground. ' '''‘What happened? This isn’t normal for you. Let me help.’ I smile weakly. This is when another Telepath comes in handy. ' '‘Alright. But no reaccepting the Tantabus. All I need is to get this blizzard contained. Here’s what we’ll do.’ '------' Perhaps a half hour of fighting shadow with light, we’ve made some progress. The Tantabus and storm are now contained, and we have managed to shove it into another room. But not the one I was hoping for, though. Because this is the one with my childhood memories.� Chapter 5 '---' Legolas This is an area of her mind that I have never seen, and I doubt that anyone else has seen it either. ' '‘Why did you bury these memories?’ I ask. I am careful to be quiet. Eärendil is standing in the middle of the void-like room, summoning all of the visions into an order. ' '‘I think it’s a time that you saw these. A time you understood my past. A time you understand my future.’ I walk to her side. We take each other’s hands and step into the first scene. A young Arwen and a slightly older Eärendil are sitting on rocks in the middle of the stream. Arwen is struggling to keep her balance. She topples off the rock into the rushing water with a shriek. Eärendil throws out one of her hands in horror, and the water catches her safely and pulls back onto the rock in a swift motion, all coordinating with Eärendil’s finger movements. When Arwen is safe and dry, Eärendil folds her arms tightly. Her worry is apparent, and so is the fact that she has practiced her ability. With hesitation, she shows Arwen each of her abilities without a word. Probably just telepathically speaking, though, from the look upon Arwen’s face. The scene ends, and with a flash, we are in the next one. I can tell Eärendil has been punished for her swift reaction to Arwen’s fall. She now has a fading scar over her left eye from a wound probably inflicted by her father. She scowls at her father. Who in turn, points a finger into the depths of the halls to a door without the splendor of the gleaming city. Just another plain, wooden, door. She takes Arwen’s hand, gently squeezes it, and walks away through the door. Inside, The room is of the grey stone of the cliffs. Simple, with no decoration and roughly hewn walls with only 2 chains hanging from them. A guard locks the rough cuff across her wrists and leaves her in the dark of the room. She can barely move around, but she stands with her back to the wall with the chains making an arc to her hands in front of her. She closes her eyes, and a small flower blooms in her hand. I recognize it from my healing. It’s not athelas, but an ashflower. The name doesn’t describe the flower though. Instead of the black or grey color that it describes, it radiates a gold aura around the fire-like colors of the several petals. Many of the same flowers bloom through the dirt floor, carpeting the ground in soft light and filling the air with what I know to be a cinnamon-like scent. Her eyes fill with tears from the grief of making the rarest of flowers bloom, but the tendrils of the plants wind up her arms and she relaxes. The tears don’t disappear, though. As we watch silently, many moments appear and disappear like the wind. It’s only at the end of the stream do I realize that Eärendil has left. She had stepped out of the memories to dry her tears. I come to her, and find her singing softly to a bird, ' ''Why is the world ''' '''Such a cruel place? Why does happiness bloom Not for a disgrace? These answers, my child Are found far off in the sky, For they soar without my chains, and Freely fly.' The melancholy tune and minor key make the song doleful and sad. But the most incredible thing happens at the end of the song. The bird launches itself into flight and sings in Arwen’s voice the same song in the same tune. Eärendil sings as well, and their voices collide in harmony and fill the open space with echoing songs. When the song is finished, the bird finally flutters down to Eärendil’s shoulder. I can get a good look at it now. It’s a light grey, almost white with black wingtips and tail tips. ' ''It’s beautiful.' 'The bird or the song? This is a Nightsong, a type of bird only of my knowledge. It can perfectly mimic a singing or talking voice, and perhaps understand one.' As if on cue, the bird begins to sing: 'O stars that in the Sunless year With shining hand by her were sown! In windy fields now bright and clear We see your silver blossom blown!' 'Both,' I whisper. The product of Eärendil’s memories and the song bring out rebellious tears I rarely find. It truly is amazing that she can find such beauty in terrible pain. The Mockingjay hops onto my shoulder and begins to innocently search my shoulders for food. ' ''Suldreen! Stop it! What have I told you about pecking friends?' I laugh, the first since I entered her mind. Suldreen flutters back into the air and cries a twitter that sounds uncannily like Eärendil’s laugh. ' '------''' '''Eärendil The night passes in a flash, and before I can realize it, the sun has risen upon the new day with a warm light. After a few hours’ rides southwards with the river, the golden wood envelops us in its beauty and majesty. The horses slow, taking each step carefully to truly experience the wonder of the ancient land. Stepping into the realm of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn is stepping into the green part of Middle-Earth. The peace of this land courses through every stick and stone and is the lifeblood of the Galadhrim. We meet Haldir, an old friend, and he bows deeply to us. My presence in Lorien is one of great honor. ' ''Eärendil daughter of the golden wood! It truly is a pleasure to have the honor of seeing you once again! And with Legolas son of Thranduil as well!' He exclaimed in pure delight. Legolas is quick to answer: 'And is it not a fine coincidence that we are first greeted by our kinsman and great friend, Haldir? Well met!' Haldir points his horse into our path, and the 3 of us chat gaily as we near the Nimrodel. Its cold water rushes upon sprays of silver and white as the clear water flows with its merry laughter past us. I look to Haldir and he nods. With his call, I raise not a bridge of water, but light as not to disturb the beloved waters of the Galadhrim. Our horses, especially Mithroc, trust the silver threads to bear themselves and their loads across the frigid waters. They trot over without urging from their riders. As we enter Caras Galadhon, more elves bow and greet us in their tongues, both Sindarin and Quenya. Legolas is in awe. I remember then that this is his first time visiting Lorien with me. I catch his eye, and he smiles. ' ''You know, you could have told me that you are a revered figure here,' he transmits. 'Well, what’s the fun in that?' I grin from ear to ear. He knows perfectly well that my abilities are admired by the peoples of Lorien, a very different idea than Rivendell. The Galadhrim bow to their rulers and any master of the elements. ' '''Haldir’s path separates from ours here, and we are soon swept into a whirl of children crying out for my swirls of light and shadow and other elves experiencing the pleasant surprise of meeting me. But soon enough, the crowd parts with a bow to Lady Galadriel. Her gold hair blows in the light north wind, and her white dress compliments the pure light that glows solely in Caras Galadhon. We dismount and bow, a sign of respect. She smiles and beckons for us to follow. ' '------' 'It’s night again. ' 'I’m standing on our flet, a spacious lodging for guests in Lorien. The balcony offers a beautiful view of the night sky. The setting sun fills the air with a gentle red glow as the moon pulls the heart of elvendom into its cool gaze. Voices singing softly from below waft into the trees, singing of the harmony of Elvenhome in Quenya and Sindarin. I smile. ' '''‘Here my heart rests evermore,' I think. Birds perch on my shoulders, and the peace of this land fills my heart with joy and love for all of Middle-Earth. The Misty Mountains loom westward, and the sinking sun takes its final breaths as Legolas joins me. ' '‘Any reason you’re crying?’ His eyes are filled with worry, but behind the veil of darkness, there is an inescapable light of joy of his homeland. ' '‘This place reminds me of my heartland.’ I whisper. The vines climbing the balcony of our flet weave their way up my arms, relaxing me by squeezing gently. I only then truly notice the tears running down my face as I state almost blindly into a void. I quickly wipe them away. I am not weak and emotional like any other elf. ''' '''We stay on the balcony even when it begins to rain. The singing has paused, to begin again in a song of the elements, mainly the trees, and water. I sing along, for this is one of the few songs I can appreciate the beauty of. '------' ‘Remember, my child, that you shall always be welcome in Caras Galadhon and the rest of my realm. Visit often, and know that I shall always welcome you. Farewell!’ Lady Galadriel touches my cheek gently and holds me close before guiding me to the Gates of the Golden Wood. Mithroc, fresh and active as always, nuzzles me with a neigh. I mount him, feeling his radiating energy ripple under me. Legolas has left the day before, so I am left to ride through the white winter of the Misty Mountains. ''' '''Mithroc’s fast pace carries me home in just 2 days. The moment I arrive, a silver Suldreen burst out, crying in a very familiar voice: ‘Ranger Meeting in Edoras, it’ll take a week to get there!’ ' '''I gasp. The orc hunting season begins at the dawn of spring, which is only in a few days. I hastily pack for the 5 months of hunting Strider and I always team for and run out of the door calling for Mithroc. He immediately lets me swing aboard, and begins to gallop at his top speed. This time, we run southwards through the peaks of the mountains and emerge into Mirrormere only 3 days into riding day and night tirelessly. Lorien lies only a day’s reach ahead, and I happen to find a good friend riding at top speed in the same direction. ' '''‘Hail, Aragorn son of Arathorn of the house of Elendil! I see you came late too!’ ‘Hail, Eärendil of Rivendell and the line of Elrond the Halfelven! Ready for another hunt?’ ‘Very. Let us make haste, my friend, for Edoras still lies many miles away!’ We ride together for the next day, our horses rarely tiring of their strenuous ride. Just before the meet signaling the start of the season, we pull into Edoras, the capital city of Rohan and the Rohimmir, the horse-riding men of Middle-Earth. ' '� Chapter 6 '---' ‘The Great Meet has now begun, and at sunset, so will the Season. As an old tradition, it is customary for us all to join together to catch up on the last seven months where we have not seen each other. Who shall claim the title of first?’ I look around. Not many of us are willing to stand. Well, someone must lead the Great Meet. I stand. ‘Fellow elves and men of this exalted alliance! Many great wonders are known to us, and there is no way for us to share them but this. I shall start, for only days before, I had returned to Rivendell once more to claim my rightful place!’ With this, many elves leap to their feet and begin to congratulate me and I am surrounded by a throng of elves and some men. I smile. ‘But there is another with news we all long for. Strider, you know what I mean.’ He obviously does, since he turns crimson and starts mumbling about not knowing what exactly I am talking about. I flash him a smile. ' '‘Oh, Strider. How does literally every soul looking at you know what I meant, when you don’t? Must I make it absolutely clear?’ ‘Are you bent on ruining my life, Eärendil? What are you implying?’ Aragorn hoarsely whispers. ‘Why, you couldn’t guess? Your relationship status with Arwen! Only I know what has happened between you two, but only they long for news of it. Tell them, and make it the truth!’ I exclaim. He knows perfectly well what I spoke of since he turns an even deeper red as the other Rangers turn on him. ' '‘Oh, there’s no avoiding it now. But not much happened.’ Groans echo through the Meet’s attendees. Aragorn’s relation with my sister is the one most followable love tale of Middle-Earth. Their wedding could be the most unifying of all in both the Grey Havens’ and this land’s histories, but their separation is one of heartbreak and agony. They both love each other, but neither will admit to it. A saddening, tragic story. ' '‘Look, we know it’s pretty hard to confront her, but you need to get this worked out. She loves you too.’ I take his hand and gently trace a meaningful scar upon it. A carving, traced with a thin blade. The broken sword, Narsil. Every Ranger has their own, an irreversible mark to remember an unbreakable oath. They reflect our past while declaring our future and proving our present. Mine is a rendering of Arwen’s Evenstar pendant, but with my own touches. Healed over long before, white marks ingrained in my skin graze over Strider’s still healing marks. As more Rangers stand with news of their personal lives, a warmth fills my heart. These people, of no relation to me, are who I consider my family. We are a tightly-knit alliance, but also one that will stand forever. ' '------''' '‘We had to get an early start, didn’t we?’ Aragorn yawns. He’s still working on waking up later in the night for better hunts, a strategy we began to use only recently. ' '''‘Be quiet. That yawn probably called every orc near Edoras to arms.’ I whisper. My pointed ears flick forward and back, searching for any sign of pursuers. Nothing, thankfully. No heavy tramping from any guards masks the skittering sounds of small animals up the trees, and no glowing eyes mar the dark, serene, landscape surrounding us. ‘You’re right. Sorry. Want to call the horses to guard?’ A Ranger’s horse can only be commanded by a Ranger, be it the master or not, when they give a specific series of whistles. Even the slightest mistake can cause the largest mishap. The ‘guard’ whistle is a low start, bouncing higher sharply at the end. ' '‘Whoooo-we!’ I whistle softly. Both Mithroc and Arod’s ears prick upward, swiveling in each direction to search for any sign of movement. Mithroc, the more experienced horse, snorts. He sensed something. ' '''Aragorn’s hand reaches for his sword, Anduril. I have already fitted an arrow to my bow. ' '''But there was no need for these. Only another horse, bearing a rider, stumbles out of the thicket in front of us. We bow gently, for this is no common rider of Edoras. ‘Hail, Eärendil and Aragorn!’ she says softly. ' '‘My Lady Eowyn! We did not expect to meet you here!’ I bow, returning my arrow to its quiver and my bow to its place on my shoulder. ''' '''She smiles. ‘Eärendil, you know never to call me Lady Eowyn. Eowyn will do just as well among good friends. Has the Hunt begun? I lose track of the date every year.’ I nod and her grin widens. ' '‘Well, good luck. May starlight shine in your path!’ She says, riding away towards the castle looming above us in the light mist. I smile. ' '‘Let’s go. If we want to hit the plains by midday, we’ll need to hasten now.’ '------' Our horses gallop swiftly through the fens and fields known commonly as Rohan. Edoras falls out of sight as we chase swiftly after a surprisingly swift group of orcs lying only a day out of reach with the gap closing fast. I continually whistle loudly to urge my horse onward at his fastest pace. ' '‘I think we’re catching up,’ I yell, attempting to overcome the fierce winds blowing my words away. ' '‘You’re right. The tracks are getting fresher.’ ' '''As we continue onward, never tiring of the fast pace set by our prey, we notice that their trail seems to widen as we ride. Usually, that means more groups are colliding with and joining our targets to make a more secure pod. Better count for us. ' 'Just after sunset, we spot our pod from a hill crest. It looks small from a distance, but I know from experience that their numbers are great for two beings to tackle, being a Ranger or not. ' '''‘Ready?’ ‘As always.’ We charge; yelling loudly with silver swords drawn as our horses galloping at full speed as the pod is suddenly alerted to our dangerous presence. ' '‘Gilgalad for the elves and Anduril for the men!’ I cry, lifting my sword, glowing brightly with a pale blue, almost ghostly, light that resonates with solemn darkness as we fall upon the utterly disoriented orcs as they wildly scatter in all direction with no clue of our experience. ''' '''Easy pickings, as usual. Category:Blog posts